


Inside Out and Unwinding

by transdreamsicle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Dorian Pavus, Canon Compliant, Crying During Sex, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Healing Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Men Crying, Rimming, Sex Magic, Tender Sex, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transdreamsicle/pseuds/transdreamsicle
Summary: Saying things and meaning them are very different things. What if Adaar means what he's said? Dorian is tempted to believe.
Relationships: Male Adaar/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	Inside Out and Unwinding

**Author's Note:**

> Sunlight fights its way into Josephine’s office between overlapping leaves from all manner of vines growing over the windows. Dorian traces each gap with his eyes as Solas rephrases his explanation. Dust dances through the light only to disappear in shadow, each mote turning and twisting through the air. 

The Iron Bull steps through the few victorious shafts and the dust erupts in his wake, swirling and flying higher and higher and up into the shadow above the window. 

Wide, gray hands rest on sturdy hips. Cross-crossing scars draw Dorian’s eye upward over a bare torso and even he has to wonder why The Iron Bull simply refuses to wear a shirt. Maybe all the repression from the Qun makes him need at least one simple freedom. Maybe he overheats. Can’t be the horns, they do make shirts with buttons, after all. 

“So he’s not possessed?” Bull asks. Oh, and he’s  _ extra _ surly today, joy of joys.

Cassandra shakes her head. Dull light reflects off of her breastplate and makes her eyes shine. “He’s not. Whatever the desire demon did to him, it is not possessing him.” 

A flash of green light, Dorian recalls, and a shout that made his blood run cold in his veins. 

The way Adaar fell. Limp until he wasn’t. Twitching, grunting, foaming at the mouth and then the vomiting.

Dorian blinks and forces himself back to the present. 

“—anchor makes it more difficult to possess the Inquisitor, perhaps.” Solas’ voice is as patient as ever, like he measures each word to make sure it will fit in the sentence.

Bull frowns. “More difficult isn’t impossible.” 

Solas tilts his head, eyes unfocused as they stare somewhere between Josephine’s desk and the window Bull has been pacing in front of for the last ten minutes. 

“It isn’t,” Solas concludes, lifting his head to look at Bull, “but I still don’t believe him to be an abomination. Affected, definitely. Possessed? No.” 

Bull looks toward Dorian and startles, his entire massive body coiling in on itself before relaxing again. He points to a spot behind Dorian with two fingers. “I’m going to put a string of bells on that hat.” 

“It won’t work. Not like you want.” Cole’s voice is so close, but always sounds distant, different. 

Solas clears his throat and takes a step toward the center of the room. Golden firelight makes jagged shadows dance across his narrow face. Would hair make it better or worse? Dorian’s opinion changes day to day. Today Solas is fine being bald. Maybe a mohawk. No. No, definitely not a mohawk.

“Cole, do you have any idea what’s happened to the Inquisitor?” Solas asks, looking for all the world like he’s asking what their spirit friend wants for lunch. 

Cracked wheat imported from Antiva, or the cheese platter from Val Royeaux? 

“He’s not possessed. Not like you know it to be. Can’t fill something that doesn’t have room,” Cole explains. Dorian thinks he explains.

Solas frowns and looks off to the side, eyes progressively narrowing until they flick back to Cole. “So the anchor, you mean it… takes up space inside the Inquisitor?” 

Cole makes no sound as he moves, so Dorian only knows he’s walking by the way Bull’s eyes track him walking toward Solas. 

“No, it didn’t take space. It removed it.” Will any of them even remember what Cole is saying in five minutes? 

Solas looks more troubled the more information he’s given. Cassandra moves out from behind Josephine’s desk, her armor sending flashes of light all across the back of the room as she walks in front of the window. She looks most like a princess decked in jewels when she’s dressed as a soldier in full, glittering plate. 

She stands by the fireplace and turns to Solas, arms crossing tight over her chest. “How do we fix it? It’s only gotten worse over the last week. He’s losing his mind.” 

Bull takes a step back and, curiously, Dorian thinks he looks stricken. His mouth is pulled into a frown and his eyes are downcast. The proud line of his shoulders curves in a very obvious slump. 

“I don’t know,” Solas admits, “it makes little sense to me that a man perfectly capable of walking through the Fade without issue would be undone by one desire demon.” 

Dorian lifts his head from where he’s had it resting in his hand and contributes for the first time since the conversation began. “This one desire demon did try to crawl  _ into  _ his hand in incorporeal form, remember.” 

Bull sighs and walks away from the window, leaning against the stone on the back wall. He could be one of the statues in the main hall if he just stopped talking. 

Cassandra’s eyes fall to Dorian. “Tell me what happened.” 

“You have my report,” he replies.

Her upper lip lifts on one side in a snarl that Dorian knows he should try not to provoke, but there is such delight in her annoyance with him. Besides, the way he was raised hasn’t left much room to show how distressed he truly is. Cassandra is right. Adaar is slipping away.

Dorian sighs and lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, no need to give me that ‘my armor is pinching me in soft places’ face. We were closing a rift in the Western Approach. This one was larger than others, more demons came through. It was an old Tevinter ruin and had been kept in stasis by time magic before we released it, but there wasn’t much else remarkable about it. We fought a couple dozen demons, Adaar closed the rift, but right before he did a desire demon managed to slip through and tried to climb up the connection and into the anchor. The rift closed and Adaar fell. He had seizures, he vomited his lunch, then he vomited what I can only presume to be some kind of liquid from the demon, then the demon left his body and we killed it. By the time it was dead he was back on his feet, and was completely normal.” 

“For the first day,” Bull adds.

Dorian looks at him, wanting to find some snappy reply but falling short. “Yes, for the first day. After that he was… vibrant, in my eyes. He was energetic, expressive. He fought with more fervor. It was nearly four days before I could see the way things were changing, but when I did we came right back to Skyhold. He didn’t argue.” 

Bull makes a low, grunting noise. “He didn’t argue with you. The moment you weren’t around he stopped being so sweet. Nearly broke my jaw for saying we should head back two days before you suggested.” 

A sharp frown pulls at Dorian’s lips, and he can feel his forehead creasing the same way his mother’s does. “You didn’t tell me that.” 

Bull shrugs. “He was already acting weird, didn’t seem much weirder. What was I supposed to do? Keep arguing until we got into a brawl and wrecked the camp? The man has a temper on his good days.” 

Does Adaar have a temper? Dorian has never witnessed it beyond a few snaps against people who rightfully deserved it. 

“Don’t all Qunari,” Dorian replies, “or is that another thing the Qun says you can’t have?” 

Bull opens his mouth, but Cassandra cuts through before the argument can begin. “Enough! We have to find a way to fix this! If we don’t, we have no one who can close the leftover rifts, we have no one who can truly stand against Corypheus, and all of this will be for nothing. I do not like to admit it, but without the Inquisitor, we will not have an Inquisition.” 

Dorian settles back into the chair and sighs heavily. “I have read every book I can find on possession, on abominations and even on blood magic curses, but there has never been someone like Adaar. Nothing fits our situation. There is nothing in any book here or in Tevinter that will give us what we need.”

Solas meets his eye, a spark in them that Dorian has learned to mean a thousand thoughts are beginning to solidify into a single, cohesive theory in that shiny head. “The Inquisitor isn’t possessed, you’re right, but something has touched him. Desire demons deal with our wants. If we figure out how to resolve whatever it is he wants, it could return him to normal.” 

A low, displeased noise comes from Bull’s end of the room. “You want to appease the demon?” 

Dorian rolls his eyes at the same time Solas says, “he’s not possessed. We would not be appeasing a demon, just its echo.” 

Bull scoffs and throws his hands out to his sides. “Oh, of course, just the demon’s  _ echo _ you’re right, that makes all the difference.” 

Anger rises up from the bottom of Dorian’s belly, surging heat that wraps around his heart, pushing it to beat faster, faster. The first real solution they’ve had, and of course Bull is talking out of his ass.They’re all afraid, the least Bull could do is know when he’s out of his depth.

He stays seated and keeps his hands still as he fixes Bull with a hard stare. “It does, actually, but if you happen to know something about demons that us mages don’t, please do enlighten us, great warrior. Why are you even here?” 

Bull smiles, the edges sharp, his eye too bright. “Oh, I’m here because the Boss ripped a man’s jaw off with his bare hands and left him to bleed on the floor of the main hall! Quite a show, really, you know the Orlesians loved it.” 

Dorian grinds his teeth, speaking through them as he balls his hands to fists. “The man had assaulted a young woman, if I recall.” 

Bull’s eyebrow rises at the same time the corners of his mouth turn down. “You’re a Vint after all.” 

“What does  _ that _ mean?” Dorian hisses. His anger feels so hot under his skin it’s nearly cold.

Bull pushes away from the wall, making to speak, but stops as the door opens and Cullen bursts in with thudding steps. “Do we have a way to fix this?” 

Dorian looks at their general and would be alarmed by the tone of the question if the bright blush on Cullen’s cheeks wasn’t so damned funny. Those pretty golden eyes are wide and pleading. Even the assault on Haven didn’t put that kind of desperate fear in Cullen’s eyes. 

That thought sours the humor a bit. 

Cassandra stands straighter as she looks Cullen over. “What’s happened?” 

Cullen rubs the back of his neck and suddenly the humor is back. “He… well, I think we just need to fix this as quickly as possible.”

Dorian leans forward, looking Cullen up and down before he turns and looks past Cassandra to Bull, trying his best to ask for Bull’s opinion with nothing more than a raised brow. 

Bull shrugs back, but the edge of his frown has turned to something more thoughtful than bitter. 

Cassandra’s squints at Cullen, weight shifting from one foot to the other. “What happened?”

Cullen sighs and drops his hands to his sides. “I went to check on him, to tell him that unfortunately we weren’t able to save the man he had… executed in the main hall.” 

Cassandra nods. “Yes, this is what you were supposed to do, so what happened?”

The blush deepens as Cullen speaks. “Well, he couldn’t focus on what I was saying. He kept trying to change the topic. I thought he was avoiding it until I noticed where he was looking. It wasn’t at my face.” 

Dorian bites his tongue to keep from laughing, but Bull doesn’t because the only sound in the room when Cullen finishes speaking is deep, thunderous Qunari laughter. Cassandra and Cullen both glare. Must be part of their templar training. Bull quiets quickly, but a smirk lingers on his mouth.

Solas clears his throat, the sound is slight but still more than enough to capture everyone’s attention. “We may have a way to end the affliction.” 

Cullen’s brows shoot up. The blush is fading too soon. He’s cute with a dash of pink. “How?”

“The Inquisitor is not possessed,” Solas explains, “but the desire demon left an echo of itself, we think. A reflection. It couldn’t take residence in the Inquisitor’s body, but it has left something behind. It’s making him act irrationally, as we saw earlier.” 

Cullen scoffs. “Irrationally? He—”

“We’ve already been over it,” Dorian says, “we know what he’s done. Now we need to figure out just what it is he wants so we can fix this and return him to normal.” 

Cullen looks Dorian over at the interruption, handsome face set with a stern annoyance that no Tevinter templar would dare cultivate. Dorian simply raises his brow in response. 

Solas cuts back in, “and I believe I have a theory of what will work.” 

Everyone perks up at that, but Cassandra speaks. “What is your theory?” 

For a moment Solas looks like he’ll speak, but his mouth closes and he simply looks at Dorian. The sheer flattery is almost overwhelming. 

“His deepest want is me?” Dorian asks, trying to keep the edge of disbelief out of his words. 

They’ve had fun, yes, but Dorian has had a lot of fun in his life. 

Solas inclines his head by way of nodding. “I’ve checked on him while sleeping. He can enter the Fade when he dreams, we’ve had conversations there before. Given what we know, I needed to make sure no demons would try to possess his body since he’d been made vulnerable. His dreams all followed a similar pattern.” 

Dorian didn’t know embarrassment had an actual noise, but Cullen has managed. “If the conversation I just had is anything to go by, I can guess the pattern.”

A slight smirk turns the corners of Solas’ mouth. “Not quite. The dreams do feature sex, yes, but it seems to be deeper. I think we should send Dorian to him and let everything play itself out.” 

Bull steps closer to the rest of them, arms crossed over his chest. “Not to question your knowledge, since I’m apparently  _ just _ a mighty warrior,” his eye shoots to Dorian, then back, “but he had Dorian. A lot. Loudly. Every night before we came back he had Dorian for hours at a time.” 

Dorian keeps quiet, a weird tangle of emotions turning around his gut. Bull’s description is crude, but he can tell it bears no judgment. What Solas said… seems to be deeper. What does that mean? He looks at the rest of them, their eyes already on him. Something deeper. 

“I’ll go to him, I’ve no problem assisting. It won’t exactly be a hardship.” Dorian stands and clasps his hands together in front of himself. “I should go prepare.” 

Cullen opens his mouth, face set with the determination he wears before every mission, but then Dorian’s words must sink in and their meaning unfurl in his mind because at once he is as red as a freshly blooming rose and walking backwards out of Josephine’s office. 

“Ah, yes, do that. Hopefully this works. If you need me I’ll be… elsewhere,” he stammers. 

Cassandra shakes her head as Cullen flees. The man can command hundreds of soldiers and stare down demons without flinching, but one casual discussion about sex makes him turn tail and run.

Bull snickers at the quick retreat, then refocuses his attention on Solas. “You sure it’s a good idea to put Dorian in there alone? A lot of crap could go wrong. Not knocking your skill, Dorian, but it took me, Cullen, and Blackwall just to haul him up to his room.” 

Cassandra takes a deep, measured breath and looks at Solas. “What did you see in the Inquisitor’s dreams? Why is this the solution?” 

Solas stands straighter and tilts his head, looking toward Dorian for a moment, then back to Cassandra. “I believe it would be rude to say, I’m afraid. What I saw in the Inquisitor’s dreams was meant to be private, I’m sure. I’d prefer not to break his trust, but it is my opinion that sending Dorian in and leaving them alone will work. The Inquisitor has many things to work out of his system, and I believe he needs to work them out with Dorian. And, as Iron Bull has said, he does respond to Dorian differently than the rest of us.”

Bull snorts. “That’s a really gentle way to say Dorian’s gonna have a hard time sitting down after this.”

Dorian rolls his eyes at the comment, sighing with audible exasperation. “If we’re all in agreement, I’m going to go get ready. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can all go back to our actual jobs.”

No one says anything else as he leaves and walks across the hall. The puddle of blood is being scrubbed up, but it looks like it’s already soaking into the stone. Masked nobles stand and whisper amongst themselves. Dorain is sure Leliana has her agents milling through, listening, finding ways that even this could be to the Inquisition’s advantage. Between her and Josephine they can probably turn this into a wondrous story of the Inquisitor’s heroic morality or whatever it is they say about him.

Before he heads up the stairs he sees Cassandra following him out, heading for Josephine where she stands amidst the crowd of visitors. He waits a moment, curiosity besting his urgence. 

Cassandra leans in and speaks into Josephine’s ear, and immediately a pair of keen, dark eyes find him from down the hall. He smiles, winks, and takes the stairs two at a time. 

Since the main tower was converted to a proper mage’s tower he’s had his own space in a small side room off their library. Bull made a comment about it once, about how it must not measure up to the pampering of Tevinter, but Dorian has had far worse than a dry room filled with books. 

He changes out of his normal outfit and slips into some clothing Adaar purchased for him in Val Royeaux right after their first kiss. They hadn’t even slept together yet. Only a kiss, but still Adaar was more than happy to spend time and coin to shower Dorian in affection. If he’d said he was going to Dorian would have protested. That’s probably why he made it a surprise.

Looking at the clothing now he thinks about Solas’ words and runs his hands over the fine silk. Seems to be deeper. 

The trousers settle low on his hips, the legs flowing so much they almost look like a skirt. Cool air has no trouble sweeping right through the material. Not ideal in Skyhold, but he probably won’t be wearing them for long anyway. A brocade tunic goes on top, the deep violet color a fantastic compliment to his skin and, he realizes, a near match to Adaar’s eyes. When he’s finished he takes a moment to press his nose to his sleeve. A deep, pleasant scent overwhelms his senses and lulls him closer to relaxation. It still smells like Adaar. The man knows how to dress, he knows how to eat, and he knows what cologne to wear. 

Dorian laces up a pair of dressier boots and closes the door behind himself. No one in the library pays him any mind as he goes back downstairs. The echo of his steps chases him down but stops abruptly when he pauses in the archway at the bottom. Solas stands over his desk, hands gently stroking some glowing artefact. 

“That was quicker than I expected,” Solas says, eyes still trained on the object in his hands. 

Dorian takes a few easy steps forward, heels of his boots clicking against the stone floor. “He wasn’t in any rush before. I don’t think I need to do much. Besides, if he wants to work things out of his system, making him go slow will probably be our best option.” 

Solas meets his eye, face passive, but curious. “You want to know what I saw in his dreams.” 

“You didn’t want to tell Cassandra,” Dorian replies. Not a denial. Not a confirmation. 

Solas stands straight and sets the artefact down, a strange hum Dorian didn’t realize he was hearing before dying off. 

“Cassandra wasn’t in the dreams,” Solas tells him, “you were.” 

Dorian smiles, appreciative of the candor and of Solas’ willingness to speak with him. “I would like to know, yes. I didn’t realize he could dream like us.” 

Solas moves away from his desk, toward a half-finished part of the mural that has grown and grown in the months they’ve spent here. “I found out not long after Haven. He reached out to me in a dream and said he wanted to talk to me, so we talked, but we were in Haven. That place was very important to him, so I wasn’t surprised to find him there. He didn’t even know what was happening until I pointed it out. When you brought him back here after the desire demon attacked him I wanted to see what his mental state was, to make sure, as I said, that no demons tried to attack him when he was vulnerable. I enjoy the company of spirits, but doing so requires understanding what they’re capable of. That’s to say nothing of Corypheus.” 

Solas walks as he speaks, and Dorian walks as he listens. They make a slow half-circle around the space until Solas’ back is to the stairwell and Dorian is on the other side of the desk. 

“So what was he dreaming?” Dorian asks. 

Solas smiles and Dorian knows at once that this secret is probably one of the better ones he’ll have opportunity to hear in his life. The demon-inspired dreams of someone who walked out of the Fade.

“I didn’t speak to him, so I cannot know for sure, but in the first dream I saw I think you were with him in his home village back in the Free Marches. There were woods filled with honeysuckle and daylilies. He made love to you on a fur blanket.” Solas speaks with a quiet care, his eyes scanning their surroundings as he does. 

This is not something anyone else should hear. Dorian isn’t sure he should be hearing it.

“In another you were here, in Skyhold. His quarters were shared. Your things were mixed into his, your staff in particular seemed a focus. He was waking you up. There was no sex in that dream.” Solas finishes just as steps move past the door. 

Dorian’s heart beats at a rabbit’s pace in his chest and his head feels light and airy. No sex in that dream. Seems to be deeper.

He inclines his head and offers as casual a smile as he can manage when the world is tilting sideways. Nothing he can think to say fits how he feels, so he says nothing as he walks out. 

Solas gives him a polite farewell, impersonal considering the topic of conversation. Dorian pauses at the door to the main hall and leans against it. Desire demons tempt people with what they want most. If a desire demon left part of itself behind it should be pulling up Adaar’s deepest wishes and more desperate hopes. 

Dorian closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, counts to five, then releases it with a count of seven. At this point he can’t even care if Solas sees him trying to calm himself down, clearly the man has seen more intimate things. He repeats this twice more and pushes away from the door. Sex is easy. Sex is fun.

This is terrifying. 

This is almost cruel. The desire demon attacked Adaar, yet it’s Dorian’s hopes that are being dangled in front of him. 

He composes himself and goes out the door into the main hall, looking at no one as he walks directly to Adaar’s quarters. The guards nod their heads to him and let him pass. 

His heels click and count his progress as he walks. One flight done, turn a corner, pause and consider what he’s about to do. Another flight, another pause as his mind twists on itself. He already told Adaar his feelings, and Adaar said what they had was real, but they’d just fucked. Dorian has said a lot of things when he’s loose and happy. He pushes himself up the next flight of stairs and when he opens the door and turns the corner for the final flight Adaar stands at the top, waiting.

A smile makes his face bright, warm. “Dorian.” 

Dorian smiles back, but a terrible ache settles into his belly. No one has ever said his name like that.

He continues up the steps, paying just enough attention not to slip on loose stones. Adaar moves aside when he crests the final step, allowing him to pass into the room. Every foot of the space is bathed in bright sunlight shining over the mountaintops. Stained glass casts colorful designs on the wood and carpets, framing Dorian’s shadow so he looks like something more than human for a moment. 

The doors to the balconies are closed, trapping the heat from the fireplace. Dorian hums happily. 

“It feels wonderful in here.” He turns around to face Adaar, surprised to see him still by the stairs. 

With slow, leisurely steps Adaar moves toward him. “You don’t like the cold. I was hoping you’d come see me, so I wanted it to be warm for you.” 

Dorian releases a slow breath, a smile coming to his face that only makes that frightening hope stronger. “You want me to be comfortable and yet you still have this horribly austere bed.” 

Adaar laughs softly, the bronze caps on his horns catching the light as he shakes his head. “You like it secretly, you’re just too proud to say it.” 

“Oh? How do you figure?” Dorian stays still as Adaar comes in close, forcing him to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.

A gentle, warm hand cups the side of his face. “Because I’ve seen you admiring the sculptures of the naked male Qunari in the main hall when you think Bull and I aren’t looking.” 

“Can’t believe you’ve been so gracious not to rub it in before now.” Dorian leans into Adaar’s space and feels himself wrapped in heat; comforting in one breath and almost frightening the next. 

Adaar chuckles and Dorian watches the crisp sunlight filling his violet eyes, shining like facets in a gemstone. 

Oh, Maker. 

He’s in so much trouble.

“Felt unfair to point it out.” Adaar’s voice slips into him, warm and smooth like the fortified wine he used to sneak when he wanted to make trouble in school. “Besides, you look beautiful when you’re studying.” 

Dorian’s breath rushes out of him and in its wake a fire is lit behind his ribs. “Do I? And how did you come to this conclusion, hm? Do you watch me when you think I’m not looking?” 

Adaar nods. “I do. Thought you knew.” 

A tremble breaks out in Dorian’s hands as the fire grows with every breath, his own lungs a bellows to the tempest of emotions beginning to tangle up inside him, every hope he thought silly just more kindling for the impending inferno. His own fault for loving fire magic so much, he thinks.

“You must be more stealthy than I am, then.” As Dorian speaks his voice dips, rumbling in his chest. 

Adaar moves in closer, their bellies pressing together and breath mixing between them. The first kiss is not at all what Dorian expects. He barely feels it, the press of their lips together is so soft it could break his heart. This is not what a desire demon should inspire. He expected to be ravaged, to have a nice bawdy tale to tell of how he saved the Inquisition by bending over and having a good time. 

This is not what was supposed to happen. 

He kisses back, happily brushing his lips against Adaar’s and finding that this slow gentleness soothes his raw nerves. The hands on his face slide down his neck and chest and on further down to his hips. Years of training and combat have filled his body in with muscle, he’s not small in the slightest, but Adaar’s hands can still nearly span his waist. Power is spelled out almost in letters in Adaar’s size, but the truth of it is in the calluses that make his fingers rough and the firm fighting muscle that Dorian has witnessed ending lives.

But this alone doesn’t make him dangerous in Dorian’s view. No, it’s the press of his lips and the way he sighs into Dorian’s mouth. The taste of herbs and mint on his tongue that Dorian chases with his own, this is where Dorian will find his undoing. And how happily he finds it. 

Adaar’s hands slide under his tunic and rest against his skin. Goosebumps erupt in a wave from the touch until Dorian is tingling head to toe. 

The kiss ends as gently as it began. 

Adaar bumps his nose against Dorian’s, playful to match the smile on his lips. “You like the outfit?” 

Dorian laughs through his nose and nods. “It’s simpler than I’d have bought for myself, but that’s the charm: it means I didn’t buy it.” 

Heat flashes in Adaar’s eyes and a noise rumbles low in his throat, almost a growl. “Shame I’m just going to take it off, then.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t call that a shame,” Dorian replies, his fingers already idly working at the buttons of Adaar’s overcoat. “As I recall, you said I look best naked.” 

Adaar interrupts Dorian’s efforts unbuttoning by pulling the brocade tunic up and off, holding the garment in his hand for a moment while his fingers slide over the fabric again and again. “Well, that wasn’t very romantic of me.” 

Dorian finishes opening the buttons and pulls the overcoat open. “Oh, I think we can allow you one moment of inelegance, Adaar. Besides, you were looking at  _ me _ naked, how can I blame you?”

The corners of Adaar’s lips twitch, turning down a bit. He drops the tunic and his eyes dart down to Dorian’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “Call me by my first name. No one else does.” 

The beat of Dorian’s heart hits as heavy as a hammer on an anvil, surely shaping him into something new. “Alright, Ursan.” 

A light sparks in Adaar’s eyes. The remnant of the desire demon, maybe, or something else entirely. 

Dorian pushes the heavy woolen overcoat off the rest of the way and then plucks Adaar’s undershirt with two fingers. “Afraid I’m not tall enough to do this one.” 

Little wrinkles appear at the corner of Adaar’s eyes, his smile so sweet. He takes the undershirt off and tosses it aside with a quick flick of his wrist. Acres of rich, dark skin are exposed and Dorian is nothing if not self-indulgent. He stares openly and memorizes the planes of Adaar’s abdomen and chest by touch, cataloguing the scars that knot where an arrow struck true, the tears of claws, and the smooth slices of blades. 

“Tell me,” Dorian begins, his voice nearly hidden by the crackle of the fire in the hearth, “how does a Tal-Vashoth end up with a name derived from Tevene?”

Adaar stands still and allows Dorian his curiosity. “He has parents that lived in Seheron and defected from the Qun there.”

Dorian’s movements pause and his brows raise, eyes darting up to look at Adaar’s face. “Unexpected, but most things about you have been, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Probably not,” Adaar agrees.

“Ursan is an interesting choice. Bear-like. Fits you, except for the horns, maybe.” Dorian reaches up and runs his fingers over the tough skin at the base of Adaar’s horns.

Adaar laughs and tilts his head forward, making the reach easy. He hasn’t touched them yet. It felt oddly intimate to lay his fingers on what marks Adaar as so vastly different from him, but he’s learning that there are a few liberties he might be able to take. Dorian traces the border of skin and bone, surprised at how warm the bone itself is. Not at all how he’d imagined it would be. 

“How did you imagine it, then?” Adaar asks, looking down at Dorian even with his head tilted so far forward.

“Didn’t realize I was speaking aloud. Honestly, before you I’d never had sex with a Qunari. None ever took a shine to me the way you did.” Dorian pulls his hand back and begins toying with the laces of Adaar’s breeches.. 

Adaar hums and his hands come up, his fingers skating across Dorian’s chest and shoulders. “More for me.”

Dorian laughs, a soft thing, still boyish despite how he’s grown. “Yes, more for you.”

Adaar knots any article of clothing the same way he knots his armor; making it nearly impossible to untie. Dorian has learned, though, never satisfied to be locked away from what he wants. He pulls both ends of the knot at once and watches as everything slides against itself so neatly. Military precision, he knows. Can’t have anything sliding off in battle and hope to live through it.

“You’re after something,” Adaar says.

Dorian hums. “I am indeed. A rather large something.”

“Flatterer.”

“Oh hardly, I just have eyes.” Dorian loosens the leather around Adaar’s hips and pushes it down as much as he can, but the damnable garment is so tight it won’t go anywhere unless he peels it down all the way to Adaar’s blasted ankles. “Honestly, I do so love the silhouette these trousers give you, but taking them off is worse than trying to skin a rabbit with a dull knife.”

Adaar’s entire body moves with his laughter, his head tips back and his hands move to his belly, his weight shifts between his feet and this bright, simple joy stands in such contrast to the murderous rage that lead them to Adaar being locked up here.

Bloody wash rags sit in a corner in Dorian’s periphery but Adaar’s smile is in perfect focus. He pulls Adaar into another kiss and knows that is the safest he’ll ever be.

His feet leave the ground, making his gasp and grab Adaar’s shoulders. The room moves past him and the only warning he has is a playful little smirk on Adaar’s lips, then he’s flying through the air just long enough for his stomach to flip. He bounces on the mattress when he lands, legs spread, feet still boot-clad.

“Oh, you brute. Manhandling me like this.” Dorian smiles through his words.

He can’t complain about the view, though. Adaar shoves his trousers down his legs and leaves himself completely nude at the foot of the bed. The stained glass lights half his face in a rainbow. 

Adaar lifts Dorian’s right leg with care, gently cradling his ankle in one hand while untying his laces with the other. Dorian prefers to think of himself as an active participant in bed and yet he cannot deny how good it is to indulge in the pampering Adaar gives him. The first boot slides off easily, Adaar bending so he can drop it without breaking the heel.

“You’re in no rush, I see,” Dorian says as he reclines in the bed.

Adaar shrugs, bringing Dorian’s leg up and up until the angle makes the leg of his silk trousers fall, exposing tan skin to the air. Lips press to his ankle and his toes stretch as he gasps. Another kiss follows the first, and then a trail of them travel down the top of his foot to the base of his toes.

“I’m going to end up kicking you in the mouth if you’re not careful,” he warns.

Adaar laughs and drops his leg, moving to the other, removing this boot as he had the first, and mirroring his kisses and attention. The fire in his chest burns brighter and travels down into his belly where it sits and untangles some of the knots of hurt he’s made up all by himself.

What does Adaar want?

Him, clearly.

More than his body.

Dorian lifts his hips as Adaar reaches for his trousers and pulls them off. Being naked like this, having Adaar’s eyes roving over him with the softness that comes with reverence makes him feel free, makes him feel like every second of suffering and pain and anger he has ever felt is worth it because he’s  _ here _ and he is seen and he is loved.

His heart skips and he swallows around a tightness in his throat.

Loved.

He is, isn’t he? Adaar has said it without saying it, has said he wants a relationship with Dorian, even though Dorian hasn’t a single damn clue what that’s supposed to look like.

Maybe it looks like this. Maybe it looks like trusting that he can be enough somehow.

Adaar climbs into bed and looms over him, the bulk of his form making the mattress dip. Even in shadow his eyes are bright, the slightest refraction to the light tells Dorian that the effect of the demon is still very much active.

To work, then.

He slides his legs up Adaar’s sides and pulls their bodies together. “What do you want, Ursan?”

Adaar leans in and nuzzles Dorian’s jaw, brushing his lips over the freshly shaved skin. “You.”

Dorian shivers and turns his head to give Adaar more, feeling for once like he doesn’t need to front or scramble for control to maintain some kind of dignity. This isn’t about pride.

“You have me, you’ve had me for a while now,” he whispers.

Kisses trail up to his ear, making his hips shift and push, his cock starting to fill. Adaar’s voice rolls through him, a thunder that shakes his heart and lungs. “Yes, but I want you after. I want us to live through this and be together.”

Dorian exhales long and slow and closes his eyes, lives in those words, embraces the hope he fought and tries to speak, but his voice remains stubbornly locked away, just like the first time they ever spoke about something more than sex.

He wants Dorian after. 

The fear and pain Dorian has used to make armor around his heart cracks and he breathes through his smile as tears overflow from his closed eyes. Adaar kisses the tear tracks and then his mouth, feeding him salt and tenderness. 

Somewhere between the width of Adaar’s shoulders and the slide of their tongues together Dorian has managed to find a future for himself where he will never have to hide again.

Fuck.

More tears flow from his eyes and Adaar with his patience and his love just wipes them away without a word. Even if Adaar isn’t the Herald of Andraste he is Maker-sent to Dorian.

Dorian doesn’t count how many minutes pass under Adaar’s body, kissing and comforting and holding each other. He does know he’s the one who starts escalating things, rocking their hips together to rub his cock on Adaar’s. The pleasure is a subtle thing that winds itself around his core and flutters with butterfly wings. 

He breaks the kiss and slides his fingers into Adaar’s hair, pulling enough to earn the little growl he loves so much. “Show me how much you want me.”

Adaar grins, lips kiss swollen and shining. “Roll over.”

Dorian’s eyes nearly roll into his head and he scrambles as soon as Adaar is off of him. The last time they fucked like this he had to bury his face in a pillow because he couldn’t stop screaming.

He hugs a pillow to his chest and shoves his ass into the air, knees spread wide so he’s exposed. Warm air drifts between his legs and he revels in the lewdness of his position. His eyes close again as he relaxes and waits to lose himself in sensation. They have plenty of lubricant on hand, he wonders which Adaar will choose.

But the sound of a drawer opening doesn’t come, and Adaar’s weight never leaves the bed.

A warm, thick tongue drags over the seam of his balls to his exposed hole, making his entire body jump as he gasps. “Kaffas!”

Adaar chuckles and repeats the motion, leaving more spit behind this time. Dorian pushes up enough to look over his shoulder and immediately regrets it when their eyes meet right as Adaar flicks that wicked tongue across his hole.

“You’re a demon,” Dorian rasps, “you should warn a man when you’re going to acquaint yourself like that.”

The corners of Adaar’s eyes wrinkle and he laughs. “That’s not as much fun.”

Adaar’s hands grab his ass and spread him even wider. The sight they must be, he on his hands and knees and a Qunari warrior behind him, debasing him and tasting him.

He almost regrets that Vivienne kept their secret.

The next press of Adaar’s tongue lingers, pushing and rubbing until Dorian’s hole starts to give and let it in. Dorian groans and goes back to hugging the pillow to his chest. He’s always been curious about this, about how it would feel, but never felt safe enough to ask for it. Not needing to ask makes it feel even better than he imagined.

His cock throbs with his heartbeat, pleasure steadily building as Adaar works him over. Little whimpers and moans escape with every heaving breath he draws, mixing with the messy sounds of slurping and sucking and the crackle of the fire under that. Dorian sighs and pushes into the first gentle brush of fingers on his hole. Opening is easy like this, when he’s so warm and cherished.

The push is so slow he hardly notices how deep Adaar’s finger is until he feels it making him light up from the inside, pressing and rubbing until he’s shaking and his cock is drooling cum. Dorian’s back bows and his legs almost fall out from under him. His holds his breath, letting the pleasure become blinding, hips twitching to fuck himself back on Adaar’s tongue and fingers. He didn’t know anything could feel this good, didn’t know anyone would make him feel like this, but Adaar does, Adaar loves him, it’s perfect, it—

“Fuck!” Dorian collapses and doesn’t even try to muffle the way he yells as he comes undone.

Adaar doesn’t pull his finger out, he leaves it in but remains still as Dorian pants and twitches through waves of pleasure that make him feel delirious.

Fresh heat blasts over his body and he practically purrs as it wraps around his skin.

Adaar moves and pulls his finger out but kisses Dorian’s hole after, the first of a trail that climbs up Dorian’s spine to his neck and shoulders. “I think you almost caught the room on fire.”

Dorian grins and chuckles. “Your fault. I can’t be blamed.”

Adaar rubs his hip in slow circles and litters his shoulder with more kisses. Dorian settles with the soft touches and gentle adoration, content to lounge like a cat in the sun.

Then he feels Adaar’s cock sliding against his ass.

He laughs and shifts, pushing back into it. “Is that what you want?”

Adaar lets out a low, needy noise and kisses his neck. “Dorian.”

A vicious glee erupts in Dorian, filling him with pride. “Amatus, no need to beg.”

He’s never felt so needed, he hardly knows what to do with himself.

Adaar turns him over with seemingly no effort at all, just a flick of the wrist and Dorian is on his back with Adaar curled around his side. The wet shine on Adaar’s mouth is filthy and Dorian barely recognizes the sound that comes out of his own mouth when he sees it.

“I need you, Dorian.” Adaar’s words are strained, like he’s fighting to spit them out.

Green light flickers in his eyes and Dorian reaches up, cradling Adaar’s jaw in his hands despite the awkward angle. “Amatus, you have me.”

Adaar nods, then turns over and reaches into the bedside table, wood scraping on itself with the rough open. Dorian sees a glass jar of thick salve in Adaar’s hand the next second and takes it, opening it so all Adaar needs to do is wet his fingers and reach down.

He closes the jar and tosses it aside as he spreads his legs again and gives a deep, pleased hum when Adaar pushes one finger into him. The slide is so easy it doesn’t feel like anything. Adaar’s left arm rests under his shoulders, holding him close. Sparks fly off of the mark, but there’s no sign that it hurts.

The flare matches a burst of light in Adaar’s eyes. Dorian grabs his face again to capture his attention. “Another.”

A second finger slides in just as easily as the first. Dorian sighs and smiles up at Adaar, his body so relaxed that after a couple quick thrusts Adaar is able to add a third finger. The light grows in Adaar’s eyes, strong enough that Dorian can’t look at it directly.

He presses his face to Adaar’s shoulder and moves with the fingers inside him. They spread and stretch him wide, knocking the wind out of him and making his soft cock twitch.

“Are you ready?” Adaar asks.

Dorian nods. “Yes, Amatus.”

He’s empty for half a breath, just long enough for Adaar to adjust their position and hike his leg up. Then he’s full again, thick heat pushing in and in, filling up more room than he knew he had. Adaar flexes and presses his hips against Dorian’s ass, trying to bury even more of himself, like he’s trying to climb into Dorian’s body. For a moment neither of them move, they breathe and Dorian listens to the war drum beat of Adaar’s heart. The pace starts brutal, frantic thrusts so different from the slow, careful stretching. Each moan that passes from Adaar’s lips shakes, the sound of them thin and breathless, overwhelmed.

Dorian can feel the fade in Adaar’s hand and the presence shining in his eyes. It’s only growing, it isn’t dying down, this isn’t satisfying it.

He frowns and wonders what he’s missed. Adaar said he wants this he said—

Wait.

Dorian lifts his head and tries to look into the light pouring out of Adaar’s eyes. “Ursan, my love.”

Adaar groans and holds him tighter. “Dorian.”

“I’m here, Amatus. I’m not leaving,” he promises, “you want a future with me, don’t you?”

The light flares and a low hum fills the air as the mark comes to life. “Please.”

Dorian smiles and kisses Adaar’s jaw. “I love you. As long as I’m breathing I’ll be yours.”

Adaar’s body winds tight, his lips pull back from his teeth and his eyes roll into his head as the light disappears and the mark falls dormant. Dorian sighs in relief.

Tension bleeds from Adaar’s body as his cock kicks, a rough, choked sound shaking in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Dorian chuckles and relaxes, tilting his head up to catch the kisses Adaar always wants when he finishes.

Adaar pulls back enough to look at him, his face drawn with exhaustion that makes something ache in Dorian. 

“Sleep, Amatus, I’ll be here when you wake,” he whispers.

Adaar nods and turns more fully onto his side, his eyes slipping shut and breath evening out within seconds. 

They’ll need to deal with everything that’s happened when he wakes, but for right now Dorian is more than happy to just rest here for a few hours where he knows no one will be coming to bother them. He can pretend the world isn’t ending and let himself imagine the future Adaar wants.

Especially since he knows they both want it the same way.

With everything that they are.

**Author's Note:**

> wild that i'm six years late to the fandom. hope y'all enjoyed!


End file.
